The Missing Duchess Page 17

  She paused and then sobbed. 'And she's the one who is dead. Oh dear God, I can't bear it.'

  Rather awkwardly, Faro put an arm about her shoulders. It was one thing comforting a lady-in-waiting, quite another offering comfort which might be misunderstood by a Grand Duchess.

  'In an unknown grave. Oh no -' She wept at that. 'My poor Roma. When we get back, we must arrange a proper funeral -'

  'Of course, of course we will.'

  She dried her tears at last and raising her head, gave him a startled look. 'But then who - who is with the Queen?'

  'No one, I'm afraid,' he said.

  'What do you mean - no one?'

  'The letter was a ruse to get you out of Edinburgh.'

  'The Prime Minister -'

  'A forgery. There isn't time to tell you, but I beg you, have no illusions, you were brought to this destination with me - for one purpose only. I think you know what that purpose is,' he added grimly. 'You're a brave woman, Your Highness.'

  'If you've known - what was intended, then why did you come with me?' she asked softly.

  'All part of my line of duty to protect a royal personage.'

  'Is that all?' she asked softly, and in her eyes he saw reflected gratitude and something more than gratitude. Leaning over, he kissed her very gently. For a moment, she clung to him -'

  'Hush!'

  There was a sound outside.

  A wisp of smoke curled under the door.

  The nightmare had begun.

  Faro knew that by opening the door he presented a ready target. But from the small windows it was impossible to see who might be waiting in the porch. The smell of smoke, however, painted a grim picture of their assailant's intentions.

  Amelie grabbed his arm. 'Fire - they are setting fire to the house. Don't you understand? Do something, please - for God's sake.'

  He heard the panic in her voice, remembered her story of a fire in a hotel which, perhaps, had been true after all.

  She watched wide-eyed as Faro took a gun from his valise and opened the door an inch. Clouds of choking smoke billowed in.

  Closing it hastily, he had seen enough to realise his worst fears. Their attacker had set fire to the rustic porch, which would soon spread to their door.

  'Get water,' he said. Amelie fled to the kitchen, returning at last with a bucket.

  'All I could find,' she gasped. 'Hidden away behind a rail of maids' uniforms. We're lucky to have running water.' And with rising panic in her voice: 'There is no back door. Did you know that?'

  Faro didn't doubt that whoever waited outside also knew. Telling her to stay out of range, he opened the door and flung the water over blazing wood.

  As the flames subsided, smoke gushed through and set them coughing. But there was worse than smoke now to contend with. Faro heard a sharp crack as a bullet hit the stone lintel of the door, narrowly missing him.

  He fired at the moving shadow on the edge of the grass. The shadow jerked like a puppet. He heard an exclamation and realised he had hit his target.

  Amelie peered over his shoulder. 'Well done. You managed it. We're safe.'

  'Oh no, we're not. He wasn't alone. Listen.'

  'Father - father -' The voice was Vince's. 'Come quickly.' A scream - and silence.

  Amelie stared at him. 'That was Vince. You must go to him. He's been hurt. I'll be all right.'

  Faro turned, handed her the gun. 'Can you use this?'

  She smiled mockingly. 'I've been through a revolution. Of course I can use a gun - and anything else it takes to stay alive,' she added. 'Now go -'

  Opening the door a fraction, he turned and said: 'Shoot to kill. Remember it's you they want, not me.'

  'What about you - you're unarmed?'

  'I can still use my fists. Don't worry about me.'

  As he ran lightly across the grass, his main concern was for his stepson. It hadn't been Vince calling, of that he was sure. Although it sounded like his voice, the lad never called him anything but 'Stepfather'.

  In the shrubbery he almost fell across a body. He thought at first it was Vince. It was Batey, shot in the shoulder and leaning against a tree. Realising he had hit his target but not fatally, Faro snatched up his gun and, followed by Batey's curses, ran swiftly back towards the house.

  The sudden dimness of the interior blinded him. With relief he saw Vince stagger forward apparently unharmed. But Vince was not alone. From the shadows behind him, a voice -

  'You have a choice, Jeremy. Your stepson or Her Highness.'

  The smiling face was that of his cousin, Leslie Faro Godwin.

  But where was Amelie?

  Chapter 21

  Although all the evidence had indicated the assassin's identity, Faro's heart had resolutely refused to accept what his head knew to be true. To the bitter end, he hoped that some miracle would prove his growing suspicions regarding his cousin to be false.

  He watched in a daze of unbelief, Vince struggling. 'Damn you, Godwin. Damn you.'

  But Leslie held him in an iron grip. 'Throw down your gun, Jeremy. You won't be needing that.' As Faro put the gun on the table, Leslie pointed to a chair. 'And do sit down, if you please. On your feet, you make me feel nervous -'

  Faro did as he was told and playing for time he asked: 'Why? Just tell me why?'

  Leslie laughed. 'Can't you guess? Money, my dear fellow, always money. Lost heavily in the casino in Luxoria, thrown into jail. Then the President's highly efficient intelligence service hinted that all would be forgiven if I obliged them - in a certain manner. There's no need to look like that. It isn't the first time.' He paused, then added slowly: 'You should know that by now.'

  Allowing that information to sink in, he continued: 'If you want to believe in my reputation, then accept that it is only a very small step from killing a man you don't know or hate on a battlefield, risking your life for nothing but glory, to killing a man - or a woman -' he emphasised grimly, 'who is someone else's deadly foe. And being handsomely paid for your trouble.

  'While I was at the planning stage, I was housed here as a guest at one of Sir Piers's shooting parties. I saw the unique and admirable possibilities the dower house presented with the family abroad.

  'Incidentally, Amelie was followed all the way from Luxoria and Batey rode out to meet them when they landed at North Berwick. He managed to arrange the accident despite that cursed storm. Amelie died (or so we believed) most obligingly, of fright. Not a hand laid on her.

  'And all the time while I was at the regimental dinner being reunited with my cousin Inspector Faro, Batey - with the help of the Hogans and Sandy Dunnock - arranged for the body of Her Highness, with nothing to identify her, to be found in the Wizard's House. So that there could be no connection, the drowned coachman was to be hidden in Mrs Dunnock's closet - for a day or two. Mrs Dunnock got upset after that, complained that the smell was upsetting them.

  'But where was Miss Fortescue? That worried me, but Batey assured me he'd seen her roll down into the water. Anyway, I was overcome with curiosity. I had to be certain my mission was successful before claiming my bounty. But when I followed you into the Wizard's House, I realised we had got the wrong woman. Same colouring, age and so forth. Batey's fault, but understandable in the dark with a storm raging. However, as far as we were concerned they were all dead, with two of the three bodies accounted for.'

  He stopped and, smiling, pointed at Faro. 'And then you, Jeremy, most obligingly, told me Miss Fortescue was at Lethie Castle. I knew I had to work fast after that. Damned nuisance.' The smile was replaced by a scowl.

  'So Batey broke into Wrightson's study and stole the headed notepaper from Holyrood -'

  Leslie grinned, his charming self once more. 'He did. Wrightson had bragged about his drawer of royal mementoes, that evening before you arrived. Another of Batey's modest accomplishments, which alas has put him behind bars in the past, is being a damned good forger. I hope he doesn't die out there. You'll be to blame. I had to leave him, the urgent need for mor
e important quarry.'

  As if remembering, he held the gun at Vince's head. 'And what have you done with Her Highness? I shall count to three and if she doesn't appear, then you can say goodbye to Vince. One - two -'

  'Put down your gun.' A bespectacled uniformed maid in large white cap and apron stood in the doorway leading from the kitchen, holding Faro's gun. The voice with its unmistakable note of authority was Amelie's.

  Unperturbed, Leslie laughed. 'Ah, I'm slipping. A terrified maid busy at the kitchen sink, wrestling with steaming pans. Who ever would have suspected that Her Highness would stoop so low -'

  'I said, put down your gun.'

  Leslie shook his head. Shielded by Vince's body, he knew he had won. Too late, madam. Hand it to me - or Vince will die.'

  Amelie looked hard at Faro and held out the gun at an angle so that Leslie had to turn slightly towards her. The momentary diversion of his attention was enough. Leslie's feet were on the bearskin rug. Knowing what was at stake if he failed, in one swift movement, Faro slid the chair along the polished floor. Swooping down, he grabbed the rug - and tugged.

  'What the devil -'

  Leslie, holding Vince as shield, was thrown off balance. Vince fell hard against him and twisting round, tried to seize the gun. As they struggled, it slithered across the floor and they both cannoned into Amelie, who was also knocked off her feet, her gun spinning towards Faro.

  Seizing it, his finger on the trigger he levelled it at Leslie. But he knew that whatever the cost, he could not kill his cousin like this, at close range.

  And Leslie read his mind. Smiling, he bowed slightly. 'I am unarmed, as you see.' Turning, he leaped through the open door. Faro followed him shouting: 'Come on, Vince -'

  Vince started forward, then with an exclamation of pain: 'I can't, Stepfather. I twisted my ankle out there -'

  'Look after Amelie -' Faro could move quickly but his cousin was even quicker. Pursuing him through the thick vegetation of trees and shrubbery, at last he emerged on the drive.

  As he looked round, one of Sir Piers's racehorses jumped over the railings and galloped towards the gates, Leslie riding bareback.

  Faro watched him go, cursing. An indifferent horseman at the best of times, he knew that pursuit was useless. Winded, breathless, he headed back to the dower house, to be overtaken by a troop of mounted policemen from Perth.

  'Get after him.' But he knew it was already too late.

  In the kitchen, Mrs Ashley sat at the table opposite the Perth detective, overlooked by Vince and Amelie.

  '... and when my Davey, he's the local constable, came in for his supper, I told him about this Mr and Mrs Faro. Mollie thought there was something very sinister about the pair of them too.'

  All heads turned in the direction of the maid who had served lunch at the dower house. This was her moment of glory.

  'Aye, there was that - especially him.’

  Inspector Macrae of the Perth Constabulary sprang to his feet as Faro entered. He didn't know how much he had overheard but had the grace to look embarrassed knowing Faro's reputation with the Edinburgh City Police.

  'We were never alerted about any royal arrival,' he told him. 'I'm glad we got here in time to avert a tragedy. Dr Laurie was telling me -'

  Faro smiled wryly. They had been too late. The drama was over and they had already lost their man. But Vince was still alive and so was Amelie.

  'There's a wounded man out there,' he said, and Vince limped towards the clearing. But Batey, like his master, had disappeared without trace.

  Perth Constabulary provided an escort to accompany Amelie, Grand Duchess of Luxoria, on her journey to Balmoral.

  For Faro, seeing her into the carriage, this was a formal farewell. As they clasped hands briefly and he solemnly wished her godspeed, there was for an instant reflected in their eyes, the sad certainty that they were unlikely ever to meet again.

  Worse than any parting with the woman he would always think of as Roma Fortescue was Faro's disillusion regarding Leslie Faro Godwin. Vince, whose first instinct about Godwin had proved to be the right one, realised how deeply his stepfather was shocked by the discovery that his cousin was a hired assassin.

  Over and over, Faro asked himself - and Vince - where lay the difference between them? Was his own role as a detective merely one other facet of the same violence that erupted in Leslie Faro Godwin, making one man fight on the side of law and order and the other, of his own blood, into a hired killer?

  And painfully he came to realise that the margin was very narrow indeed, as he remembered how uncovering the riddle of his father's death, he had learned that the highest and noblest in the land were far from incorruptible.

  The surprises, however, weren't over.

  While Faro wondered how he could spare his mother the awful revelation about her nephew, a letter came from Orkney in reply to his glowing account of their first meeting after many years.

  'I don't know what you're on about,' he read. 'Whoever this man is who calls himself Leslie Faro Godwin, he certainly isn't a relative of ours. Your cousin Leslie took scarlet fever and died just weeks after your dear father's funeral. We were just back in Orkney. You loved Leslie and we tried to tell you but you just wouldn't - or couldn't - take it in. You were only four and suffering bad dreams over your poor father -'

  And Faro paused, remembering that childish nightmare of his hero cousin and his father carried away from him by a carriage with black horses.

  - You never spoke his name again. Neither did I, God forgive me -'

  Faro put down the letter.

  'Grandma wouldn't know about a war correspondent, would she?' said Vince. 'Then who on earth was this Leslie Faro Godwin?'

  'I don't know, lad, but I intend to find out.'

  His enquiries revealed that there was indeed a war correspondent called Leslie Godwin. All his exploits were quite correct. Alive and well, he lived mostly in America with his wife and children. At the time of his impostor's sojourn in Scotland, he was at the White House, receiving an award from the President of the United States.

  Faro found the audacity of his counterfeit cousin deeply disturbing. It suggested an association of assassins readily available and funded by an international society which Faro had long suspected lay at the root of many unexplained and unsolved murders. A secret society with origins older and deadlier than the respectable Freemasons to which so many merchants and upper-class citizens were proud to belong.

  The case of the missing Duchess had still one more card to play.

  Winter came, the year turned, spring bloomed and summer blossomed, and found Faro once again involved in his daily business of solving another series of crimes.

  One day, a small paragraph in The Scotsman drew his immediate attention:

  Heir for Luxoria: After many years of marriage to President Gustav, Her Highness the Grand Duchess Amelie has given birth to an heir. Born prematurely, despite fears for his survival, the prince shows every sign of being a strong, healthy infant.

  A week later, Faro received a letter with a Luxorian stamp. In it a copy of the announcement. Underneath, in ink, the words: 'We have a son. Gratefully, RF.'

  There are fifteen titles in the Inspector Faro series available from bookstores and on www.amazon.co.uk. Available on Kindle:

  Enter Second Murderer

  Bloodline

  Deadly Beloved

  Killing Cousins

  A Quiet Death

  To Kill A Queen

  The Missing Duchess

  Also available on Kindle in the Rose McQuinn series:

  An Orkney Murder

  Connect with Alanna online:

  Author’s homepage: http://www.alannaknight.com

 

 

 
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